Backwater
by ficing.insane
Summary: He thinks she's pretty. Danny & CJ campaigning through small-town America.
1. Nebraska

Title: Backwater

_Characters:_ Danny Concannon, CJ Cregg

_Rating:_ Harmless

_Notes:_ Pre-Series.

_Disclaimer:_ All credit goes to Sorkin, Wells, & NBC/Warner Bros.

He thinks she's pretty. Not that he would admit it to anyone. It'd cost him –he wasn't all that sure what it would cost him. A press pass? His job? By default, no press pass meant no job, so maybe it was a bit silly to separate the two. His dignity would definitely be a casualty. There wasn't too terribly much of it to begin with, of that he was aware –he'd been told too many times not to be, after all –but here, at hour zero, he could feel what was left starting to drain out the bottom of his feet.

Feet. He should move. Had anybody else moved? No. Okay. Wait, he was sitting down? Even better.

They were at a meet and greet photo op –the press, him, Governor Bartlett, and her. If he stepped up and was honest, he'd admit that he didn't have much of an idea of what was going on, aside from the fact that they were in a backwater diner in a backwater town somewhere in Nebraska eating (backwater) pancakes. Nobody had even so much as seen a pancake thus far, though, so the last bit was probably a lie.

Boy, he really couldn't think with her standing there and looking, well. Pretty.

He'd been following the Bartlett campaign for a long time now. Long enough where, theoretically, he shouldn't have been shaken by the presence of one of the candidate's senior advisors. But. CJ Cregg, who he'd worked with closely (but not closely enough –oh, jeez did that not bode well for him) in the past weeks, was laughing.

She was laughing, and wearing a worn-out blue flannel shirt over a pair of crumpled jeans, and it was the first time he'd seen her with her hair pulled back and-

There were a million more 'ands', all of which added up to the aforementioned him-finding-her-pretty thing. All of which, it would seem, pointed towards the untimely demise of his career.

Across the diner, CJ lets out another raucous laugh at something one of the elderly waitresses said to a blushing-over Sam Seaborn. Danny feels the breath wheeze out of him and squeezes his notebook until paper cuts break out along his palm.

He was wrong, earlier. The laughing wasn't one of the 'ands' that lead to her being pretty. It was one of the ones that made her amazing and so very, very far out of his league.


	2. South Dakota

She was still pretty in South Dakota. He didn't know how she'd done it, how anyone could look anything other than woebegone and bedraggled in a state that had more cows than people and not enough hot water for a shower exceeding the thirty second mark. But she was pretty, and he was still employed. Both miracles, really, when you stopped to think.

Not that he had the kind of time to think. Not with Governor Bartlett recounting everything that'd ever been said or thought about Mount Rushmore and grain-based agriculture. Danny wasn't sure what made him think those two topics meshed into a single cohesive conversation, and, frankly, he didn't want to know for fear that he'd either be subjected to another hour-long lecture or, worse, that he'd actually be able to understand what was going on in the other man's head.

That might be able to make an interesting sidebar. If, you know, he ever did a sidebar one of these days. The note got scribbled down anyway. He'd taken to writing down more and more since Nebraska cause it had a way of keeping his head in the game. By that he meant, of course, that it had a way of keeping him from staring at CJ.

The morning in the diner was the first of what he'd taken to calling his 'rough' days. Rough days & easy days. It was cliché and terrible, but he did that on purpose, because that's usually how he felt on the worst of days, when he wasted hours at photo ops or on the press bus, just sitting –or standing –and staring. That was how he felt at those times –cliché and terrible. So the names stayed, and were used often.

Today, for example, was a rough day. Her hair was up again –he was starting to check for that as an indicator of how his day would be; hair up or down, presence or absence of glasses, and skirt-or-pants –and she'd thrown on this terrible, oversized calamity of white wool that, he hated to admit, he was actually starting to like.

CJ caught his eye from across the field, so Danny made a show of ducking his head and scribbling away in his notebook. Bartlett was on about grain exports, or cows exporting grain, or Teddy Roosevelt –he didn't really know, but wrote it down anyway. After a minute, he risked a look up again. This time, it was CJ who was staring at him. She shot him a curious look, then, oh-so-subtly, pointed at the Governor, as if to ask 'Are you seriously writing this down?"

Danny blushed, pulling himself together just long enough to nod and mouth 'Sidebar' back in her direction. She'd laughed then. Silently, to herself, and not at all like she had back in the diner. Still, that was all Danny heard, the out-of-control laugh, and the thrumming joy of it all was enough to make him forget why he was standing in a field full of cow pies with a chewed-up pencil and a dinky notebook.

South Dakota, he decided, just might be his favorite state.


	3. Idaho

By now, saying CJ was pretty was like saying the campaign bus was going to be late. It was just there, in the air of whatever terrible parking lot or Motel Six they happened to be knocking around, and there wasn't any point in vocalizing it, because everybody around you knew it was true, felt it in the same kind of way, and wanted to deal with it on their own.

Except for the fact that, well, of course, CJ wasn't like a campaign bus in any way, because she was almost always on time, always smelled so much better –not at all like reporters dying quietly of secondary highway-hypnosis –and, you know, wasn't even a tiny bit bus-sized.

And, besides, he was almost positive that none of his other colleagues had come to the conclusion-slash-realization that he'd reached in Nebraska, then again on the way to South Dakota, in South Dakota, and up to here, the lobby of some potato-themed equivalent of a Marriot in Idaho. Almost positive because, just now when CJ had tapped Steve on the arm, Steve had looked like Danny had imagined himself looking, in diners and in cow fields, and that was…

Well. It wasn't great. Especially because Danny was pretty sure he'd just snapped his pencil in half when he'd curled his knuckles just then. Oh, no, pencil was okay. Okay. Good, then. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Maybe he and Steve could commiserate now. Spend the hours after photo-ops but before bed slumped over hotel bars, getting drunk and swapping 'Gosh, CJ sure is pretty' stories.

Or, you know, not, cause there were two problems with that. First, none of the hotels they'd stayed in recently had bars in them. In fact, Danny was fairly certain that the last two had been in dry/temperance/tea totaling counties. Which was great, if you were into that kind of thing, which would probably mean that you were a circa 1890 housewife.

The second problem was this: if Steve, or anybody else he'd been roped into spending too much time with, male or female, said anything along the lines of "CJ sure is pretty. Think I've got a shot with her?", Danny would've said "No." and punched them in the face.

Then again, he always got a little antsy when the bus was late enough to force them to turn a breakfast press meeting into a dinnertime one. And, he was finding, he always got more than a little antsy when CJ got cozy with members of the press who weren't, well. Him. Especially when she was wearing her glasses.

Yeah. He was going to have to work on that. Else he'd probably end up fired, either for punching a colleague or neglecting to report on things the way a reporter ought. Something told him his editor wasn't going to be pleased with his story thus far: missed 9 AM meeting with Bartlett; don't really know why, was too busy staring at CJ to find out.

Maybe he could find a way to blame it on the bus.


	4. Not Seattle

The Abigail Bartlett bio comes out the day they're meant to be in Seattle. He says 'meant to be' because, obviously, they're not. They're still in Idaho, at that spud-tacular –he's serious, there; that's the real tagline –hotel that the bus couldn't, and still hasn't, managed to find.

His press agent and publisher are both frantic when they call –he has to get to Seattle. Find a car, steal a horse, even ride a little old lady if he thinks she'd be up to breaking the land speed records that'd need to get broken in order for him to get to an airport on time.

Danny talks them down, says he has no intention of going, because –and shouldn't one of them have realized this, being in the publicity business and all? –if he leaves, it'll look like he's abandoning the Bartletts in favor of chasing his own gravy train. And, seeing as how they're kind of both the conductors and owners of said train, it'd be seven kinds of stupid to ditch them for a book release that Panic Press & Co could reschedule.

So, he shuts off his cell phone and has dinner with the Bartletts. They've had an advance copy since before the campaign kicked itself into top gear, so none of this is news, really, and it's kind of nice to celebrate without actually having to celebrate. Yeah, he'll have to do all the press things later down the line, once they're all back in civilization, but for now, dinner, followed by drinks –courtesy of Josh –at the Spud bar are making for a much better evening than he'd have had in Seattle, surrounded by strangers and cable television.

About two hours after getting to the bar, a worse-for-the-wear Josh excuses himself by being dragged away by his half-frantic assistant. Danny likes Donna, he really does, and sometimes he suspects she's got some kind of sixth sense. Or super powers. Maybe they ought to have let her drive the bus.

"Your agent know you're skipping out on a book tour to get soused at a spud bar?"

He thinks it's Donna doubling back at first, but three syllables in he knows it's not and almost flies head first over the bar when the other shoe drops. She's here, sitting next to him with a drink in her hand and the biggest smile he's seen on her face to date and-

She's so goddamned pretty

Now's the time where he's supposed to be talking, isn't it?

"Uh. Yeah. Not happy about it, but they know."

"They'll get of it once the book hits bestseller. You're gonna be bringing them a lot of cash real soon."

"Think so?"

"Know so. I've got an eye for picking winners. It's kind of my job right now, ya see."

CJ thinks he's a winner. Or, thinks his book is one. Still, it's the same thing, so far as he's concerned, and he's probably grinning like a moron now, but he's kind of vibrating a little, so he could care less. This, right here, is the best reason in the world for missing the book launch. Screw dinner and drinks.

"It's weird, though. At first –at first I didn't think it was you who'd written it. They kept telling me it was, but…"

"But?"

"I don't know. You're quiet at the press gaggles, then there was that sidebar on grain relating to national parks-"

"I didn't actually write that. For the record."

"I know. And thank god. Your readers would've rioted."

"Yeah, well."

"What I'm saying is –I think it's a great book, Danny, and I think you've done great work out here, too. No idea how you managed it, but hey."

He's trying to think of something clever to say. Been trying since she sat down, truth be told, but he's pretty sure that anything that comes out of his mouth right now is going to make her wonder if he actually did write the book, or if he paid some college kid to do it under the table.

That's when she stands up, while he's having a minor panic attack in his head, and presses a kiss to his cheek. Right on cue, the minor panic attack turns into a major one. He's sure he's blushing, knows that it's getting worse when she squeezes his shoulder and whispers "Congratulations" when her face is still a few inches from his ear.

And then she's gone, on her way out of the bar, while he stays where he is and tries to remember where he put his lungs.


	5. Wyoming

A week out of Seattle, when the campaign pulls into Wyoming, CJ debuts a new haircut. Danny's dumbstruck, like he often is when it comes to her, but this time it's got more to do with how she managed to find somebody capable of making her look like _that_ in a town like _this_. He thinks back to South Dakota, when she'd been radiant even though their hotel didn't have lighting fixtures or mirrors, and wonders again if she's just got a gift, or if she's some super-being who likes working for politicians on her days off from walking runways in Milan.

But, um, yeah. He really likes what she'd done to her hair. Not that he didn't like the perm. It's just that, well, it's straight now. And kind of long. And there's a bit in the front that kind of sweeps over her forehead whenever she looks down at a certain angle. She flicks it back behind her ear every time that happens, so, naturally, Danny's already made a sport of anticipating the motion.

Right before the first briefing with the new hair, Katie'd made a joke about whether or not the Governor had a comment on the demise of the perm. Danny thought about the impact that punching her would have on their friendship. CJ rolled her eyes and made a snappish comment about curls not looking good on film.

That's when Danny notices the cameras. Real, honest, live-action news cameras that'd never been a part of their entourage before. But, lo and behold, there they were. He knew that the Governor was pulling ahead in the polls, had written a column about it yesterday, yet never once assumed that it'd have an impact on their day-to-day lives out on the campaign.

So. Even though Danny isn't, as a rule, overly fond of his broadcasting counterparts, he can't help but feel a little giddy that they're here. After all, anybody who'd twisted CJ's arm into turning up looking the way she looked -well, they were plenty okay in his book.


	6. Montana

After Wyoming comes Montana, which Danny has secretly been looking forward to, not that he'd ever go out and say that when his colleagues've all gotten their notebooks in a twist about how the press bus is twelve-odd-percent more likely to 'accidentally' drive off the side of a cliff here than in a nice, flat state like Kansas. As for him, well, first of all, he thinks twelve percent is a bit of an underestimation, there, and, secondly, that Montana is leagues above any of the other places they've been to so far, major cities included.

Cause, seriously, it's gorgeous here. Beyond reason. There're rivers and mountains and so much sky –plus Yellowstone's within spitting distance of the campaign route, and that's gotta be worth something, too. He doesn't get how anyone could gather the will to whine, not when there's a vista around every corner and time to go on a white water kayaking runs between press calls and dinner back at the hotel.

On the night before they're set to leave town, Danny's dripping his way back up main street following a particularly nasty pass down the river that got him soaked, bruised, and more than a little bloody. Not that he cares, cause this has been the first chance he's had to do honest-to-goodness-physical-man-stuff since linking up with the campaign. Well. There had been the parking lot baseball, plus the ten thousand miles he'd run on an assortment of treadmills, but those didn't count.

Anyway, he's about a block away from the hotel when he passes by this antique store and decides, well, what the hell, it's his last night here, and he likes knickknacks as much as anybody. He's not that wet –except, no, he is. But he'd changed into dry shorts, so it's mostly his hair and t-shirt that're wrecks. And the cut on his head stopped bleeding a while ago, so, screw it, he's gonna go inside.

The bell above the door chimes twice before Danny realizes what a huge, crazy mistake his late-night-antiquing plan was. There, in the center of the shop, is CJ. The very same CJ he's been fighting to avoid since her perm vanished a week ago, making her straight-and-shiny hair his number one fixation, trumping everything, including, unfortunately for him –and his editor –writing. Which was his job. Which was coming ever closer to not existing anymore thanks to all this 'she's so pretty' business.

The sound of the door opening –or maybe it was the sound of that damn bell –makes CJ look up from the jewelry case she was almost bent double over. Her eyes flick from his damp, matted hair to the still-bloody cut above his eyebrow and all at once Danny feels like he's back in junior year, when all the girls he tried to ask to the prom had onced him over, then walked away without even bothering to say 'no.'

"What in God's name did you do to yourself?"

Oh. Abbey Bartlet's here, too. Danny must've missed her, what with CJ being there and him being all disgusting over here, but it was impossible to overlook her now, not when she was in full-on doctor mode, rushing up to him and poking his forehead in a way that made him wince and wonder if she'd failed Bedside Manner 101. He's about to answer, drum up some manly-sounding thing about kayaking and rapids that were practically waterfalls, when she backs off as quickly as she'd flown in, declaring:

"No stitches. I'll give you something to clean it later. Remind me."

"Yes, ma'am." he mumbles. So much for operation boast in front of CJ. Dr. Bartlet goes back over to ogle more jewelry, leaving Danny free to slink off towards some lamps to plot his escape. Only. This happens:

"Almost kill yourself getting out of the hot tub?"

It takes a second for Danny to process that CJ's actually talking to him, then another second after that to realize that there's more insulting going on than friendly chatter. He bristles, puffs his chest, and explains –in the most many voice he can muster – "I clipped a rock on the white water course."

A few things happen then, things that Danny'll replay over in his head for the next few nights –hell, years –before he falls asleep. First, CJ's eyes get all wide and glittery like he's never quite seen before in all her hours of laughing it up with the rest of the senior staff. Then she flips her bangs out of her eyes. Then she gives him a little once over, only this one's…good. Not at all reminiscent of latent prom woes.

"Nice."

It's one word. One word, and right after she says it, she turns around and goes back to looking at jewelry. That's probably a good thing, in the long run, cause even though it was only one word, it lights Danny up in a way that's totally inappropriate for the inside of a dusty curio shop. And so, even though he should take his win and run with it, he decides to stick around, look at some lamps, bask in the glory of it all. Besides, he tells himself, it'd be weird to leave now, when he just got here.

And if it means that he gets a chance to eavesdrop on CJ some, well, that's okay, too.

"You should buy it," Abbey nudges.

"Abbey!" CJ laughs, "What the hell am I gonna do with an engagement ring?"

"Wear it. It's gorgeous."

"It is." There's this little sigh in CJ's voice that Danny finds way, way too appealing. He forces himself to examine a tiffany lampshade, all the while keeping one ear trained back on the jewelry case. "Twenty-eight hundred, though. That might be walking around cash for the Leo McGarry's among us, but…God, it's a nice ring. You know what? I'd marry the first guy who showed up with that. Seriously. Screw dating –gimme that ring, and I'm in."

Abbey says something, then, but Danny's got no idea what it could've been, cause his ears are buzzing and his brain's burning with this crazy, lunatic idea that he can't, under any circumstances, ever, ever follow through on. But maybe he could. No. He couldn't. It'd be his job, probably his neck –no, totally his neck; she'd kill him, beat him to death with the ring box –but. Maybe…no. He couldn't. No.

Unless. Maybe.

Maybe he could.

Danny's internal war to end all wars goes on for a while –at least, it must've, cause by the time he shakes free from it, both CJ and Abbey aren't at the jewelry counter anymore. Heck, they're not even in the store. He shoots a look at the door. Leaving would be the smart thing to do, here. But since when has anything he's ever done in regards to CJ and her hair and her eyes and her laugh ever been smart?

He buys the ring.


	7. North Dakota

CJ's prediction about the Abbey Bartlet bio hitting the bestseller list comes true the day after the campaign pulls out of Montana. They're at a truck stop just over the North Dakota line when the news gets through to Danny, leaving him choking on a bite of dubious meatball sub as his publicist shrieks congratulations over a weak cell phone connection. Katie slaps him on the back till he's able to talk again, and before he's really processed what's going on, a six-figure bonus residual check's been wired into his bank account and a post campaign book-slash-lecture tour's been arranged with the promise of even _more_ checks headed his way in the future.

Not too shabby for a guy who's been living off a crap travelling salary, especially considering how that same stupid, sorry guy'd just gone and dumped a month of DC rent on a ring for a woman he'd spent fewer than six cumulative hours alone with. Yeah. Speaking of having trouble coming to terms with things…

But, uh, anyway. So, yes, he'd bought the ring. And yes, he'd spent a lot of money on it. Now, though, with the book and the tour and everything, Danny felt a teeny-tiny bit less stupid than he had that evening he left the antiques store wondering how in the hell he'd manage to persuade his landlord to take a payment on the fifteenth rather than the first. Praise be to the indomitable Dr. Bartlet and the millions –millions! -of Americans who'd decided to read about her.

Danny's beelining it back to the press bus to spill the good news to anybody who'll listen when he spies his fortuneteller sitting on top of a picnic table on a grassy island wedged between the parking lot and the highway onramp. The ring box, which, against his better judgment, is stowed in his pocket rather than a safe, secret spot like the back of his luggage, smacks against his leg as his stride falters, then weaves off in a new direction.

The grass is brittle under his feet, charred, almost, by the hot waves of car exhaust sweeping down from the highway. It's a terrible place for a picnic table, he thinks, but CJ seems determined to enjoy herself. She's got a book dangling from one hand and a bright green popsicle dripping in the other. In her jeans and worn-out button down, she looks more like somebody escaping from a traumatic family road trip than a woman instrumental in running a Presidential campaign.

Then again, he mused as he watched her lift the popsicle to her lips, what was a campaign other than a…than a –_Jesus_.

Okay, maybe coming over here had been a bad idea. Cause up until just this second here, Danny's fixation with CJ had been, well, bland. And relatively tame. Like, the farthest he'd ever wandered down that path of 'maybe there's something more to this than me watching her be pretty from afar' was when he'd entertained the idea of asking her to dance back in the spud bar, wondering, if he did, how his palm would feel pressed against the small of her back. And, y'know, buying the engagement ring. There was that.

But…woah boy. He can't –he doesn't even _know_ what he's going to do now. Now that he's seen CJ's tongue slide down the lime length of ice, pulling it into her mouth so, so, slowly before hollowing her cheeks around it and sliding it back out. It's just…_Jesus_. Is what it is. And if he doesn't say something, doesn't do something to stop her from repeating the process all over again right now, this very second, it's gonna be all he'll be able to see whenever he looks at her, from now till the day he dies. Or, worse, he won't be able to stop himself from running towards her, dashing the book out of her hands, and kissing her till everything tastes of lime popsicle and car exhaust.

"Hey," the greeting falls out just in time; CJ lowers the popsicle away from her mouth and smiles, flashing greenish teeth.

"Hi." With her hands full, she isn't able to brush her hair back from her eyes. Danny shoves both hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of doing it for her. His knuckles brush against the ring box. He's forgotten why he came over here.

Oh, right. The book. He opens his mouth, set on saying something like 'You seen Dr Bartlet anywhere?' but what comes out instead is:

"Whatcha readin'?"

Yeah. Not the same thing. Though, technically, it was book related. So. Not as bad as it could've been. And, bonus, he hadn't made a fool of himself by attempting to touch and-or maul her. Which was good.

"This new bestseller," CJ's tone is flippant, standing in direct contrast to the building dread he's feeling as he watches the popsicle move back towards her lips. At the last second, though, she turns the book to show him the cover, leaving him no choice but to look at it rather than her as she takes another slurping lick.

It's his book. Holy! –it's his book! His!

Danny knows he must be grinning like an idiot, then, cause she starts to laugh at him, but he doesn't mind, not when she's talking to him after having dedicated her only free hour of the afternoon to reading his book while eating a popsicle in the most damned amazing way he's ever been lucky enough to witness.

"C'mon, I want you to sign it for me." He blinks, not sure he heard her right, but, no CJ's beckoning him over, pointing to the patch of free tabletop beside her. "Come on. Sign it so I can hawk it on e-bay."

He shakes his head and goes to sit next to her anyway. Like he'd pass that kinda shot up. The table's uncomfortable, the highway heat's burning through his shirt, but CJ's pressing the book into his hands and he's joking: "Well, I guess you gotta set off that paltry salary any way you can."

"Damn right." As if on cue, she sucks the popsicle back into her mouth. Danny allows himself to watch this time. CJ rolls her eyes. "I promise I won't get any on the book, mother."

Danny's tempted to correct her; it's not that. In fact, it's so far from that, it's kind of absurd. Even now, in the back of his mind, he's begging her to let a few choice rivulets run down her chin, along the span of her neck, and into the gap between her buttons where he could –

Ohhhhh he was so screwed. Might as well enjoy this stint on the bestsellers cause, frankly, odds were he'd never get his act together long enough to write another sentence ever again, let alone a whole book full of them. He clears his throat, gets a pen out of his pocket. Along the way, his fingers brush the ring box again and he feels a bit of his nerve creeping back.

"What should I say?" he asks. "Dear highest bidder, hope you enjoy?" CJ laughs; it's even better up close, and he has to hold back a shiver, even in spite of the heat.

"Say that I called it. That I was right –I wanna have that in writing, from you."

"I'm gonna regret this." Danny doesn't know if he means the inscription or the fact that he decided to come over here. Maybe both. Probably neither.

"Mmm-hmm," CJ hums around the popsicle. Danny chuckles, shaking his head as he writes 'CJ - You Were Right' in big block letters across the title page, then scrawls his signature underneath.

Definitely both.


End file.
